


Thief from the back alley

by Sqigglemonkey



Series: The Wicked Path of Destiny [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:03:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sqigglemonkey/pseuds/Sqigglemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Gavin found his life in crime and his journey to Los Santos</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thief from the back alley

Gavin was by far the most reckless of the Fake AH Crew. He had always said that he wasn't afraid to die, claiming that it would be an adventure. His younger years were relatively peaceful, despite his parents heading the British crime network, and so, like Ray, he grew up around crime.

Due to his thin frame and quick fingers, and despite his knack at tripping over himself, Gavin's parents introduced him to crime early. He soon found that he was a natural at both stealing and making people believe him (unfortunately this has yet to work on Ryan). His parents only helped foster these traits, and by the age of 16 he was fully integrated within the crime network in Britain.

Gavin was 18 when he was kidnapped on the way to steal some important documents. Thinking that it was something to do with the job, Gavin tried to bluff his way out of it, but his kidnappers ignored him, injecting him with some kind of general anaesthetic that kept him asleep for 3 days. When he awoke he was in a strange room, in an unfamiliar town, in an unknown country. He walked for miles before he found someone who could tell him where he was. Just outside Los Santos, San Andreas. He was far from home, but he had skills, and he put them to use.

* * *

The coffee shop incident revealed to Gavin that he didn't have to be alone forever, and working with the Lads only emphasised that for him. It was many years along the line that he would be able to reveal his past to anyone, but when he did he used poetry, talking about the time between his kidnapping and meeting the Lads, as fucked up as that period had been for him.

"Sometimes you might find me,  
in a back alley, throwing up my guts,  
in explosions, of green and orange.

Sometimes you might find me,  
in a rundown apartment, with a ceiling fan  
that arcs crookedly, hitting the ceiling in  
explosions of drywall and poverty

Sometimes you might find me,  
in a sunny park, scribbling lines in a  
worn, tattered notebook,  
in explosions, of ink and passion

Sometimes you might find me,  
outlined in chalk, battered, bruised, bloody  
in explosions of red and abuse.

Sometimes you might find me,  
standing beside you, walking with  
and guiding you in explosions of  
anger  
and  
I told you so's."

* * *

 Gavin was able to put all his skills to use in the Crew, finding that his reflexes were only nurtured by the ones he loved, and he became the Frontman, the Thief and the Hacker, occasionally having to swap out the hacking side with Ryan if he was needed for something else.

Gavin found that he was hard to detect despite his British accent and his clumsiness, always knowing instinctively where a security camera was and actively avoiding them. It sometimes tugged on his heartstrings that by doing that his parents may never find him, but the realisation that he had a new family now dragged him back to the present, his boyfriends needed him now.

* * *

It was one Christmas, 10 years after his kidnapping, that Gavin was able to tell his boyfriends about the poem that he felt now summed up his life. He had found it by pure accident whilst reading, finding himself leaving a bookmark on the page, and often revisiting it. He always found that it made him chuckle. Lifted his spirits. No matter what.

"The most unusual thing I ever stole? A snowman.  
Midnight. He looked magnificent; a tall, white mute  
beneath the winter moon. I wanted him, a mate  
with a mind as cold as the slice of ice  
within my own brain. I started with the head.

Better off dead than giving in, not taking  
what you want. He weighed a ton; his torso,  
frozen stiff, hugged to my chest, a fierce chill  
piercing my gut. Part of the thrill was knowing  
that children would cry in the morning. Life's tough.

Sometimes I steal things I don't need. I joy-ride cars  
to nowhere, break into houses just to have a look.  
I'm a mucky ghost, leave a mess, maybe pinch a camera.  
I watch my gloved hand twisting the doorknob.  
A stranger's bedroom. Mirrors. I sigh like this - Aah.

It took some time. Reassembled in the yard,  
he didn't look the same. I took a run  
and booted him. Again. Again. My breath ripped out  
in rags. It seems daft now. Then I was standing  
alone among lumps of snow, sick of the world.

Boredom. Mostly I'm so bored I could eat myself.  
One time, I stole a guitar and thought I might  
learn to play. I nicked a bust of Shakespeare once,  
flogged it, but the snowman was the strangest.  
You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?"

**Author's Note:**

> The first poem is by Charles Barnett: http://hellopoetry.com/charles-barnett/  
> The second poem, the one about the snowman, is by Carol Ann Duffy


End file.
